


Chamomile over Coffee

by TheGrammarHawk



Series: Hawk's Ferdibert Week 2019 [7]
Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Blood, Dreams and Nightmares, Ferdibert Week 2019, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Post-Black Eagles Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses), Post-Canon, Post-War, Spoilers, Suspense, Unreliable Narrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-08
Updated: 2019-12-08
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:41:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,512
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21715513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGrammarHawk/pseuds/TheGrammarHawk
Summary: The war is over, but it isn't, really. Until Those Who Slither in the Dark are gone, nightmares may as well be reality.Ferdibert Week 2019 Day 8:Free Day
Relationships: Edelgard von Hresvelg/My Unit | Byleth, Ferdinand von Aegir/Hubert von Vestra, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Series: Hawk's Ferdibert Week 2019 [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558714
Comments: 10
Kudos: 132
Collections: Ferdibert Ship Week 2019





	Chamomile over Coffee

**Author's Note:**

> an end to ferdibert week! and somehow i survived it and uni both!
> 
> Thank you all for reading my works. It means a great deal to me. It _almost_ makes me feel bad to end on this note.
> 
> If you're looking for fluff, this ain't it, chief.

It was dark. Strange technology was the only source of meager light to be found. Hubert looked around, squinting at it, it was… eerily familiar. He had most certainly seen it before, but when…?

The sound of distant screams chilled Hubert to the core, those even more familiar than the surroundings. Adrenaline spiked through him as dark miasma swirled around his fisted hands, turning to look for the source.

With pained cries as context, he knew without a doubt that he was in some hellhole of _them_. Some things were similar to how Edelgard had, once, described her imprisonment, the place she was tortured…

Another twisted screech filled the room and this time, this time Hubert recognized it entirely. He darted to the closest doorway, running toward the source as fast as he could-

The other members of the strike force tried to stop him, but he knew they weren’t real. Bernadetta could not make such a twisted expression, Caspar would never look so crazed. They were as real as Arundel, as Monica, as Tomas – so nothing stopped him from striking them down, one by one, until he reached his destination.

The first cell was hardly lit, but it appeared to have some sort of broad table in it. Nausea settled in Hubert as he noticed that there was an unmoving body on it, an arm dangling limply off the side and dripping blood. Long, straight hair spilled over as well, the green barely visible in the darkness.

 _“Another failure_ , _”_ came a disembodied whisper that sounded far too close to Thales for comfort. _“Now how are we to move on with our experiments? This was the last bearer of Cethleann’s crest after the saint was slain. Now we have only but a precious limited supply…”_

The pained howling started up again, disturbingly nearby. Hubert whirled to find it, bringing himself to the other cell. This one had a candle on the wall, illuminating it for Hubert to see. His heart plummeted through the floor.

Chained to the wall, hands fisted in his hair as he yelled, was Ferdinand. Long, eerie wounds marked his body, some far too alike to the scars Edelgard now bore. Hubert gripped the bars of the cell, reaching in.

“ _Ferdinand_!”

With a tortured gasp, Ferdinand curled in on himself, arms holding himself in a way Hubert desperately wished he could do. He nearly called out again when-

The sound of a hiss reached his ears. Slowly, a patch of Ferdinand’s brilliant hair turned bone white, starting at the roots and working down to the ends near his waist.

_“Ah, it appears that Cichol’s blood-kin has given us our latest success.”_

_Nonononono-!_

“Ferdinand,” Hubert breathed, attempting to melt the bars with magic. “Ferdinand, _Ferdinand_ , please-!”

“Hubert…”

The reply was soft, broken, as Ferdinand finally raised his head. He reached back to him, flinching from the pain. “Hubert – Hubert, _please_ -!”

His whole body shook with a tremor, blood dripping from his lips as his hair continued to blanch. His next shout was so violent it sent Hubert himself reeling.

“ _Hubert!_ ”

***

“ _Hubert!_ ”

Hubert gasped, shooting up from where he lay in bed. Strong hands gripped his shoulders, concerned orange eyes staring at him in the darkness of the room. Their bedroom.

A dream.

The war with the Kingdom and Church was over. Only _they_ were left, and now that the strike force had been cleared on the information, they had been making progress toward finding Shambala.

His friends were not simply masked Agarthans. Linhardt was still alive. And Ferdinand was here, in his bed, his orange waves surrounding him like a mussed-up halo, not a trace of white to be found.

Still…

“What, what is your preferred flavor of tea?”

Ferdinand furrowed his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly as he answered. “Almyran Pine Needles, though I do enjoy the Southern Fruit Blend as well.”

A deep breath. “How many half-siblings do you have?”

“How many – Hubert, I don’t think any but my father could have answered that,” Ferdinand returned, “the ones that I know of? Four.”

Hubert nodded slowly, feeling the despair from the nightmare begin to wash away. “What was the name of the horse you intended to train for me, but ended up becoming your own?”

“Jasmine,” Ferdinand answered without hesitation, rubbing his hands up and down Hubert’s arm in a soothing manner, “now is that enough to dissuade your fears? It is just me, Hubert. I promise.”

The knot in his chest finally unraveled, accepting the hug from Ferdinand. This had become commonplace – now that everyone knew, at random intervals it was common to ask personal questions. _They_ were getting more sinister than ever, beginning to realize _they_ were no longer welcome, and it had only been a matter of time before problems arose for them again.

(Bernadetta swore that someone had been following her. For the first time, Hubert was inclined to believe her. That alone set him on edge more than anything else.)

“Perhaps I shall fetch you a drink to soothe you,” Ferdinand murmured, pressing a kiss to Hubert’s forehead as he rose. His nightwear was blissfully cool, Hubert noted. He must have been attempting to wake him for quite some time, in that case.

As Ferdinand left, Hubert sat up properly, working through his thoughts as he allowed himself to settle. Edelgard had always said that reacquainting herself with her surroundings helped her through her worst moments, especially when Byleth was not at her side. Perhaps it would help now.

Firstly, the bed: the covers were a _wreck_. Had he done that? Despite all of his and Ferdinand’s nightmares, never had such a mess been made of their sheets. Then again, it had been a particularly _bad_ nightmare, hard to wake up from to boot. Usually when the people he interrogated woke from a sleeping spell, they did so slowly, but they did not thrash about in their sleep either, so it was safe to say he had not been hexed in some prank.

There was armor, haphazard, on the floor. This was hardly surprising with Ferdinand’s hobby of collecting it, but he had been better about putting it away, recently. Perhaps he had forgotten last night, Hubert would need to remind him. For once, Hubert had gone to bed before Ferdinand, who had needed to finish up a letter to Dorothea before he slept. He must’ve gone straight to sleep without bothering to tidy the room.

Their work desk still had a lit candle, the wax burned down so low that surely it would be out within the hour. The desk was covered with books and papers, a common sight that put Hubert at ease: Ferdinand truly was terribly cluttered, no matter what his appearance said. An ink pot was overturned, even, which caused Hubert to rise in order to fix it. Ink had spilled all over the desk, ruining a few papers, and was even dripping to the floor.

Dripping rather slowly, in fact. Hubert paused halfway to the desk, eyes narrowing. He could have sworn that the ink was fresh, there was no reason for it to be running so… thickly.

His attention was commanded back to the door as Ferdinand reentered, blowing on the cup he held in his hands. He presented it with a tired smile to Hubert, running a thumb along his cheek fondly before sweeping his hair back over his shoulder, tangled and wild.

Ferdinand usually wore a braid to bed. Had he been that tired?

He took a sip of his drink while pondering, but stopped as soon as the taste hit his tongue, frown growing deep across his face.

Ferdinand’s face fell, at that. “What is it? Did I not brew it quite right this time?”

“No, this is perfect,” Hubert considered, swirling the contents around, “but it’s coffee. Whenever I’ve woken up in the night, you’ve always prepared tea instead.”

Ferdinand gave a wry smile, hand lingering on Hubert’s shoulder. “Ah, my apologies – I could not find your Cinnamon Blend, so I figured that you would prefer coffee over one of the more floral teas in stock.”

Hubert slowly removed Ferdinand’s hand from his shoulder, holding it in his own as he looked down at it.

“You… _Ferdinand_ prepares chamomile tea when either of us wake up in the night. To calm us down.”

“Hubert,” Ferdinand sighed, stroking a thumb along the back of Hubert’s hand, “forgive me. It was habit, it’s late. I promise, it is only me. Would it settle your mind to ask more questions of me?”

Hubert placed the cup on the desk, atop the papers and… and the liquid that was most certainly not ink, he decided, it was too viscous. Folding his arms, he faced the other occupant of his room.

“Most certainly. A more… intimate one. Something Ferdinand would be the only one able to answer.”

Hands out, Ferdinand nodded with a placating smile. “Ask away, my love.”

“Show me your crest.”

Ferdinand blinked, staring back at him.

The silence was as deafening as it was damning.

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are very much appreciated!!! thank you for all of your kindness this week, it means so so so much!
> 
> Now with an epilogue! [By Crest's Light](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21723295)


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